


find a silver lining (on a cloudy day)

by theoneinquisitor



Series: tumblr prompts [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Dominant Clarke, F/M, Face Sitting, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, There's a small plot, Tumblr Prompt, but here we are, but mostly sex, i am such a hoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 19:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/theoneinquisitor
Summary: One word prompts: "Mine." Bellamy and Clarke have an unusual arrangement, but it works. Smut with very little plot.





	find a silver lining (on a cloudy day)

**Author's Note:**

> listen. listen. i wrote this in a cough syrup filled haze and apparently, turn into a slut when that happens so here we are. this is completely unedited so all mistakes are mine just don't worry about it. just read what you're here for: really hot sex. 
> 
> (also, try to make it past the whole married thing before you give up. I at least try to explain that.)
> 
> title comes from Silver Lining by Kacey Musgraves.
> 
> enjoy, i'm gonna hide under a rock now.

The first time is an accident, or rather, the lead up to it purely accidental. The act itself heavily involved consent and Clarke is almost positive she threatened bodily harm if he stopped. She almost laughs when she thinks about it, but composes herself because she finds she’s in a predicament of sorts and it is absolutely no laughing matter.

The problem here is that she fucked, and when she says that she really means fucked Bellamy Blake. Now, normally she is not ashamed of her so-called ‘sex-capades’, but there are two issues with this fact. The first is that Bellamy just so happens to be her roommates brother, an issue that is problematic, yes, but honestly something she could easily deal with because, under normal circumstances, Octavia is a very forgiving person. The real issue lies within Clarke’s own moral scale. She didn't just fuck Bellamy. She's fucking him. Present tense. 

There are, at a surface letter, not many layers to this. He’s only two years older than her at the ripe old age of 26, and he’s a well-rounded individual. Sure, he’s her roommates brother, but she and Octavia only just met a year ago. Clarke needed a roommate and Octavia needed a place to stay. Friends of friends sort of deal, and she likes the girl. But even so, she doesn’t owe her much of anything. However, the real kicker, the thing that adds fifteen layers of complications? 

He's fucking married. 

When she says it out loud (typically, in the bathroom mirror as she wipes his cum from her chest and other areas), it sounds worse than it is. Look, yes he's married, but it’s complicated. He's not married, in the traditional sense of the word -- unconditional love, support, and monogamy. His marriage is one of, for lack of a better word, convenience. 

About six months ago, his best friend was in a horrific car accident. Broken back, shattered leg, essentially as bad as bad can get without it becoming a full blown tragedy. So when Nathan Miller wakes up from his coma three weeks later and the first thing the doctor asks for is his medical insurance, the web of lies begins. 

Miller is a lot of things: smart, hilarious, and sarcastic in the most pleasant ways. But he's also stubborn and when his job offered him the shittiestinsurance possible (who wants to pay nearly two hundred dollars a month just to have to pay another five in case of emergency?!), Miller crumpled up the outline of PPOs and plans in the trash and said, “I'll take my chances.”

(Clarke finds that to be valid, because insurance isn't cheap and when you have a mediocre paying job, you have to pick between eating and healthcare. Well, no one wants to starve to death do they?)

So in that moment, as Miller freezes, unsure of his next steps, as he says, because he likes to be real dramatic when he tells the story, “My knight in shining armor swooped in a rescued me.”

Bellamy, the mother hen that he is, just so happened to be in the room at the time and exhibiting absolutely zero impulse control, blurted out, “He’ll be on mine. We’re engaged.”

Fast forward a month later, Bellamy and Miller are ‘happily’ married and medical bills are a worry of the past. But neither of them thought about how long this would take and as it turns out, insurance fraud is crime. So now they’re stuck for the forseeable future, or at least, until Miller’s expenses are taken care of and for good measure, they plan on sticking it out at least year after that.

“We’re trying to be thorough,” Miller shrugged when she had questioned that. 

It's basically a mess, one she never intended to become a part of but here she is, spinning her own web of lies. It surprises her that no one knows any of this except for her, especially Octavia, but she wasn't supposed to find out. Again, accidents. 

The first night she and Bellamy met was purely coincidental and not supposed to happen twice. She ran into him at a bookstore and the typical flirting ensued. He invited her out for drinks, she happily accepted. They fucked. It was good. But then it happened again. And again. And then again. About two weeks into their, er, physical relationship, she stumbled upon some paperwork that had listed his spouse and promptly went the fuck off, grabbing her clothes from their placement sporadically around the room. Though she wanted an explanation, she never expected him to give her one, especially one that’s valid. 

And if she were a more sane, logical person, she would have ended it still. Who wants to be caught up in that kind of drama? But she kept coming back and in the midst of it all, it’s become a thing. She can’t define the thing, but it’s definitely a thing. 

So all this leads her here, at his front door at two am, practically begging for more (she's not a begger, really, but he's been sexting her damn day and she has never been so turned on in her life). 

To her delight, he answers quickly, grinning at her as she practically shoves him out of the doorway, the door barely closed as she pulls her shirt over her head.

“Slow down, Princess,” he teases, but he removes his shirt all the same, gracing her presence with his smooth, toned chest. Bellamy Blake is unreasonably hot, like he was hand carved by Adonis or whatever stupid god he cares about. Her hands gravitate towards him, her fingers tracing the lines she's grown so familiar with over the last few months (he's an addiction, a craving that can't be sated by anyone or anything but him). 

His hand finds her cheek, his thumb running along to dim blush that's appeared in her haste, “I've missed you.”

It surprises her sometimes, how gentle he can be. Sappy, even, especially considering she was supposed to be nothing but a one night stand. A quick fuck behind the bar and an awkward walk of shame. But as she started to walk away, feeling something she had never quite experienced and still can't name to this day, he called out to her. And since then, that same feeling keeps bringing her back. For a long time, she chalked it up to lust. But recently, it's felt different. More.

He kisses her briefly, a chaste peck, and she lets out a huff of frustration. He laughs in response and she realizes he's toying with her. He has been since he sent the first dirty text describing in detail what he wanted to do to her. 

Two can play that game. 

As he leans in to kiss her again, she dodges it with a sly smile. He's confused by this, as suspected, and she almost misses the way his eyebrows shoot up when she slinks over to the couch and sits down.

“It’s Monday night,” she says casually over her shoulder as she picks up the remote to turn on his television, “The Bachelor is on.”

To his credit, he doesn't do anything except sigh, “I'll grab the wine.”

She's not surprised by how easily be concedes. She's gotten him hooked on the trashy reality show and every Monday they do actually watch it together. Mostly, they drink and make fun of the poor, pitiful souls who chose reality tv as their big break. It's fun.

But right now, she actually has no interest. The title sequence plays but she sets the volume low. She hears him in the kitchen digging around for the usual -- wine and crackers (it's all part of theme, they really aren't that classy). It's time to play.

She places her foot on his coffee table and let's her knee fall limp. It just so happened she wore a skirt to work today and access is quite easy. She lets her fingers travel up her thigh and thinks back to those filthy texts he sent her. She pushes her panties to the side, feeling how wet she already is, the anticipation of the day having already more than warmed her up.

She starts slow, rubbing herself with her index finger and cupping her breast. She hadn't bothered to put her shirt back on, her plan easily put in motion. She's thinking about his hands, how good they feel on her and in her. She slips a finger inside, gasping at how much her body really needed the contact.

“I'm out of red,” Bellamy says as he enters the room, “Is white--”

His voice suddenly goes out and she lifts her head to look at him under hooded eyes. He looks absolutely wrecked watching her like this, spread out in his couch and fucking herself. It's one if his favorite things, to watch her. And she's capitalizing on that right now. 

He slowly sits the items on the other end of the table and watches her. She doesn't stop, instead, slips another finger into her pussy for good measure.

“Fuck, Clarke --” he breathes and his voice is dripping with need. She keeps going, letting out small moans with each thrust. .

She thinks he will go sit on the other end of the couch, maybe fight fire with fire, but he doesn't. Instead, he pushes the table to the side and her foot falls to the ground with a soft thump. But he doesn't miss a beat.

He kneels in front of her and places her leg over his shoulder, opening her up once more. She speeds her momentum and watches him as he tried to compose himself. As if on instinct, his hand begins to slide up her thigh but she grips his wrist with her unoccupied fingers.

“You can look,” She tells him, “But you can't touch.”

She swears she hears him whimper, but he obeys, instead gripping her thigh and watching her play. Finally, she slips the third finger in and he lets out a strangled groan 

“Clarke, please,” he begs and she tilts her head to the side, like she has no idea what it is he so desperately wants. 

“Please what?” 

“Let me touch you,” his hands are stroking her hips, just like he knows drives her mad, “Let me feel you, huh?”

It's so tempting to stop playing the game with him, to let him have his way and do what he pleases because she knows how good it'll be. But there's something to be said about being in charge, something she's never quite tried until now and she decides she loves it.

“But I'm doing so well by myself,” She replies innocently, reaching up and pushing the cup of her bra down her breast is fully exposed. He's nearly salivating as she rolls her nipple between her fingers, letting the sensation pull a shiver from her body.

“I can make you feel even better,” he promises, but keeps his hands firmly where she has allowed them, “I can make you feel so fucking good.” 

No doubt about that, but she's not ready to give in. Not really, anyway, but his mouth is far too tempting at this point and she decides she needs it. 

“Lay down,” She orders and he's surprised at first, dropping her leg gently to the ground. But he does what she says and lays back onto the carpet without a complaint. 

She stands, her legs only slightly wobbly, and steps out of her skirt before sliding her underwear off (and yes, she pulls them off at s torturously slow pace) and tossing them to the side. He watches her, his erection straining against his jeans. Because she's kind, she reaches down and pops the button open, freeing him from the constraints and he let's out a sigh of relief.

But she doesn't touch him, not yet. Instead she moves around him, placing her feet on either side of his head. She smiles again and his hands run along her calves, excitement twinkling just behind his eyes. He's smart. He knows what comes next.

She slowly gets on her knees above him, but just out of reach so that he can definitely smell her want yet can't do anything about it. His hands rest on the back of her thighs, just below her has, giving her the leverage she needs.

“How bad do you want this?” She asks, shocked by her own boldness. In all the times they've been together, he's always the one most dominant and she's okay with that. He knows what she wants and what she loves. He knows everything about her but she, well, she's still learning what makes him tick. And this is it. 

“So bad,” He confirms, “So fucking bad, please, let me taste you.”

Unfortunately, her restraint is wearing thin so she gives in to his request and lowers herself on to his tongue, grabbing the table for support as he begins to lick into her. Bellamy has many talents -- teaching, building things, being a sarcastic dick. But his greatest talent is one reserved for her: his mouth is magnificent. 

He takes his time lapping up what's already there, taking her in like he's been deprived for years. He manages to hold himself back some, she can tell, because his tongue is gentle as it runs along her clit and he's watching her, eyes locked on hers as she stares back down at him, hardly able to keep her eyes open.

When he slips his finger into her, pumping in and out as his tongue rolls circles around her clit, she lets out a moan that echoes in the living room. It escapes her before she can even control herself and it only further drives him.

“God, you always taste so good,” he says, briefly catching his breath before starting again and she can feel the familiar tightening in her stomach, a reflex. She squeezes her eyes shut and begins to move with him, threading her hand not gripping the table in his hair and holding him further too her. She rocks her hips against his tongue and he's making noises she's never heard, but would love to hear for the rest of her life. 

Before she can even think further, she's unraveling on him, releasing herself with another loud moan, perhaps better classified as a scream. He doesn't let up, only pins her closer to him so he can take in all of her in that moment and he rides the wave with her. When it's over, she falls to the floor next to him, attempting to catch her breath. 

“Fuck,” is the only word she can manage to get out because she's somewhat in another plane of existence at this moment. 

He laughs and takes her hand in his, rubbing gentle circles into her wrist. She turns to look at him and he's wearing his typical satisfied smirk, because no matter how many times he gets her off he acts like it was impressive (which, it is). 

“Are you done torturing me?” He asks finally.

She pretends to think about it for a moment, “I guess so.”

He sits up and pushes himself off the ground before holding a hand out to her. She takes it and he pulls her up in one swift motion. Then, to her complete pleasure, picks her up, keeping his hands firmly on her bare ass, and begins to walk her toward the bedroom.

“I think we've already defiled the living room enough,” he tells her as he tosses her onto the bed. She scoots back instinctively, watching intently as he removes his jeans and boxers in one smooth motion. He crawls onto the bed and she sees him glance toward his nightstand, out of habit. They used condoms for a while. But when they realized she had an implant and neither of them were actively having sex with other people, the mutually decided to forgo the rubber.

“So what's your plan, Bell?” 

He places himself above her, his face hovering just above hers. He leans down and kisses her, slow and sensual and she can taste herself on his tongue. He keeps kissing her, opening her mouth with his and reminding her again how talented he is with his mouth, and then he's pushing into her. The moment he enters her is almost always her favorite moment. She feels full and like some missing piece of her is no longer gone. It's..ethereal.

He sighs into her mouth, letting them both adjust to the feel before he begins to move. He moved his mouth to her neck, the spot just behind her ear that he knows really works her up, “You feel so good.”

Before Bellamy, dirty talk had never been her forte. She's always been a bit shy on that end, but he's definitely changed that. She sees the way it affects him, how he reacts. Now, it's second nature and she can't really say she minds.

And while she loves when he fucks her slow and gentle, like he's got something to prove, right now she wants more. Needs more.

“Bellamy,” she leans up and presses her lips to his ear, “I need you to fuck me.”

Those are the magic words. He sits up and pulls her legs over his arms, spreading her wide underneath him. The position is one of her favorites, allowing him access to every part of her. His hands slide just behind her knees as he pushes all the way. She moans at the pleasure of being full of his cock. 

“Wanting it rough tonight, Princess?” the old nickname makes her smile. It's what he called her before he knew her name, the first night they ever had sex. It was supposed to make it casual, she supposes, but they seemed to have failed at that.

“Absolutely.”

In one swift motion, he rolls her to her stomach, gripping her as in his hands a kneading the flesh. She lifts her hips, providing him with full access and he wastes no time pushing back into her. When he fucks her from behind, it’s a whole different level of pleasure and it’s one of, if not definitely, her favorite position. 

“I love seeing you like this,” he tells her, settling his hands on her hips as he moves, pumping in and out of her in rough strokes. SHe props herself up on her hands and leans back, offering him further access to her hair. His movement doesn’t falter as he moves a hand from her hip and tangles it into her long blonde curls. He tugs lights at first, pulling her back so she can see him just over her shoulder. He looks good when he’s like this, concentrating on feeling her and completely wrecking himself. 

He pulls on her hair again and this time she leans all the way up, so her back is pressed against his chest and he’s fucking up into her. He wraps an arm around her waist and mouths at her neck. It’s primal and hard and just...everything. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, Clarke,” he continues, grunting with each thrust and filling her completely. She moves her leg, pushing her foot into the bed and when she does that, she nearly cums again. He’s hitting her at a strange angle, but it’s a spot she hadn’t even known existed before him. She let’s herself grow louder, knowing Miller is somewhere far away from their shared house, and her moans seem to drive her further.

Through his kisses against her shoulder, she almost misses it. As he holds her closer, his voice is gravely and different, much different than she’s heard before, “Mine.”

She falters for a moment, shocked by the declaration but then he says it again, firmer this time, “All fucking mine, babe.”

And she’s ready to fall apart in his arms at the sound, the way he’s claiming her because honestly, she is totally fucking his. Hook, line, and sinker.

She can tell he’s close by the way he picks up speed. Not one to be outdone, and incredibly selfless in the bedroom, he reaches down and begins circling her clit again, applying the sweetest amount of pressure and with one last call of his name, she falls over the edge, legs shaking in pleasure and he lets her fall forward, just in time for him to pull out and squirt his seed onto her back. 

She used to hate the feeling of that, the hot stickiness and honestly, thought it was something sort of degrading in a way. But it’s really fucking sexy, having him do that to her (though, she prefers to swallow, when given the chance). 

The clean up is always her favorite part, when they aren’t rushing. He gets up and goes into the adjoining bathroom. He turns on the shower and she follows quickly, hopping in and letting the hot water relax her muscles after being wound so tight. Standing isn’t an easy feat after being with him, but he often lets her lean on him for support. 

He squirts some of her shampoo, something she’s only recently left sitting in his shower, and begins massaging her scalp. She closes her eyes and revels in the feel. 

“I didn’t even ask you how you’re day was,” he comments as he scrubs, “Since, you know, you just completely jumped my bones.”

She scoffs at that, “Please, you started it.”

He doesn’t agree, but makes a small hum of nonchalance, “Anyways, how was your day?”

She tries to remember, which is difficult because right now is consumed with what just happened and her day is somewhat of a blur. But something particular does stick out.

“That guy Dax asked me on a date again,” she confesses, thinking back to lanky blonde who managed to corner her after their Pharmacology class. He’s asked her multiple times over the past semester, something Bellamy pretends is fine, but she hears him grumbling under his breath.

His hand doesn’t still in her hair, just keeps rinsing the shampoo and she adds, “He wanted to study Anatomy together.”

That seems to get his attention, his laugh is sarcastic, somewhat bitter even, “Didn’t you already take Anatomy?”

She giggles, “Like three semesters ago.”

“Fucking prick,” he growls. They switch places and she adds the shampoo to his unruly curls, running her hands from his neck to his scalp. She thinks about the way he called her his, claimed her like he needed to make it known.

“Someone's awfully possessive tonight,” she jokes. It’s not that she minds. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. She hates how happy she is that he said it. Most of their relationship has been an understanding that what they’re doing isn’t normal. He can’t commit to her, not like that, because if he were to risk that, well, things would get bad. But as their relationship progresses, the more time they spent not fucking and actually getting to know one another, that line grew unclear.

He knows a lot about her, more than she ever cared to reveal. Her flaws, secrets, and issues. And same goes for her. She knows about his fake marriage! So no, she’s not opposed at being labeled his at all.

He remains strangely quiet, turning her around so he can lather her up with soap. The rest of the shower is quick and proper. When they get out he’s hand her a towel in silence and moves back towards the bedroom.

“Did I say something wrong?” she questions. Shes’s not one to let things go easily and she often times finds herself asking the wrong questions or blurting out things without thinking. But his attitdue changed too quickly to go unnoticed and unrecognized.

He sits on the bed and fiddles with the towel and she realizes she’s never seen Bellamy looks so...unsure. Vulnerable. She sits down slowly next to him, waiting for him to figure out the words he wants to use because he’s definitely thinking about it right now. 

She isn’t sure what she thought he would say, but it isn’t, “Do you want to date other people?”

“No,” she says immediately, shaking her head as he finally looks at her, “Why?”

He shrugs and looks away, suddenly interested in the painting on the wall across from him.

“Is this about Dax? Because trust me….”

“No,” he reassures her, placing his hand delicately on her thigh, “He’s a prick, I know that. But I can’t give you...I can’t be…”

Bellamy Blake at a loss for words? That’s definitely a new one. But she hears what he’s saying. Loud and clear. Is she okay with this arrangement?

“Bell,” she says gently, placing her hand on his cheek so he will finally look at her, “I know what I signed up for. Sure, it’s really fucking weird, but I’m happy.”

She is. Meeting him had been unexpected and confusing, but he’s also added so much to her life she hadn’t even realized was missing. Excitement, most of all, because she had been stumbling her way through pre-med and her life had grown pretty fucking boring as of late. Of course, she likes getting laid on the regular (her co-workers have commented her on her ‘positivety’ more recently, a hilarious concept because she’s a pessimist by nature), but he’s also been her friend. Her best friend, even.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t? I mean, this marriage thing...it could take years,” He’s still apprehensive, and while part of her wants to shake his shoulders and tell him how much she likes him, she just laughs and squeezes his hand.

“How about we just take it one day at a time,” she smiles. 

He tugs her toward him and they fall back into the bed, not bothering to put on their pajamas. She snuggles into his side, a place that feels as though it were created for her, and sighs in contentment. He relaxes against her, tracing lazy patterns into her spine. He won’t voice it again, but she decides to reassure him one last time.

“I like you, you dork,” she murmurs into his shoulder, “Even if you are a criminal.” 

*

Four years and a divorce later, Bellamy Blake gets married again with his ex-husband by his side. This time, in a completely non-criminal way. This time, it’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, how about that randomly abrupt ending? fuck it, i was just here to give you porn so i did my job. 
> 
> come hang with my on tumblr: octannibal-blake.tumblr.com


End file.
